


Councils & Counsels

by Gryphonrhi



Category: Highlander: The Series, The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Community: crossovers100, Crossover, Friendship, Gen, Watchers, it seemed like a good idea at the time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:13:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28037490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gryphonrhi/pseuds/Gryphonrhi
Summary: Everyone needs a chance to bitch to a sympathetic ear about their work bureaucracies.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 37





	Councils & Counsels

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime after 4th season of Highlander, and after _Dead Beat_ in the _Dresden Files_. It might not make sense if you don't know both canons, for which I apologize and warn.

Joe glanced at his watch, grateful again that it was one of the old, reliable winding timepieces instead of a modern battery-powered one. Quickenings were damned hard on anything electric; magic was actually worse.

He pushed another Beertown Brown across the bar to his last patron of the night and asked, "Did you lock the door on your way in?"

In response, Harry lifted that ridiculously noticeable staff of his, murmured something under his breath, and drew the staff a few inches sideways through the air before setting it back down with an audible thunk. "If it wasn't before...."

"... it is now. Thanks." Joe sighed, poured a couple fingers of Knappogue Castle 16 year for himself, and took a load off. "Christ. When did we get old _and_ stupid, Harry?"

Harry shrugged and set his staff against the bar before picking his ale back up with his good hand. "I got drafted. What's your excuse?"

"Yeah, and you never did say what happened there...?" Joe raised an eyebrow but got no reply. Again. Eh, no problem. Joe had trained in the Watcher Academy and the school of Methos’ bar stories: sudden silences translated out to ‘ask here, next visit.’

Joe shrugged and abandoned that line of inquiry. "Hey, I might've gotten drafted, but at least I went Marine. You went Warden."

"But it's a really _stylish_ cloak, Joe." Harry grinned at his sputters and added helpfully, "Drink the beer, don't breathe it."

Joe finally exhaled enough beer out of his lungs to laugh. “Sorry, I can’t pull off ‘I only drink… vine.’ “ He gave up on the Lugosi imitation to add, “Can’t give up beer and whisky.”

That got a raised bottle of agreement. "As for joining the Wardens... it had to be done," Harry said more seriously. He slouched back on his stool, almost making Joe want to introduce him to Methos. Almost. "And don't tell me you don't know what that's like."

"Yeah, there’s a reason I took back my job as NW admin, but you’re not fooling me, Harry. I’d bet good money you were trying to keep them off your back about the dinosaur. And don't think I don't know that had your name _all_ over it, Dresden." Joe saluted the accomplishment with his beer. "Mind, I’m sure it was you because I made sure the folks of _mine_ who might have done it were busy somewhere else."

"Some of your folks would relocate an entire dinosaur skeleton, Joe? Seriously?" Harry shook his head and snagged the last of the sandwiches Joe had put out for him earlier. "Thanks for these by the way."

"Still haven't had time to work on your culinary skills, huh? You're welcome. And hell, yeah, some of my folks could and more than a few of them would. Cory and Amanda would do it for a bet. If he needed a diversion, Connor'd organize something like that in a heartbeat, if only for the fun of hearing Chicago's Finest try to figure it out later. Come on, Dresden, you think there wasn't a panicked consultation by my guys about what kind of quickening it would take to black out Chicago for a day? And shattered trees all _around_ a skeleton? Yeah. Some of my guys could do that. Jesus, what the Kurgan did to New York City...."

Harry winced. "Amanda and Cory who-- never mind, just keep them away from Chicago. I'd get blamed. As for the Kurgan, I always wondered what the Council thought of that.” Joe could almost hear the capital letter and just shook his head; somehow he’d figured they had that little imagination, based on his one encounter with their officials. He tuned back in as Harry was muttering, “I ought to ask Ebenezar if the Wardens investigated those lightning storms in NYC in the '80s or the Paris batch in the '90s."

Joe snorted. "Oh, hell no. Do _not_ do that. Your council may call themselves some fancy name – no; you didn’t tell me anything,” Joe added when his eyes widened. “You don’t have to. Grey cloaks and silver swords and that one raging asshole who came and asked me questions about you that time ? I know the kind of dramatic secret society that has a pretentious name, buddy.” Joe grinned. “Pity you weren’t here the time I got Amanda, Cory, _and_ Matthew drunk enough to bitch about the Hellfire Club. Bet you’d have had as much fun as I did.”

Joe blinked, looked at his empty whisky glass, and pulled himself a tall glass of water, twisting a lime into it from sheer habit. “Anyway. Snooty name or not, they’re bureaucrats, Dresden. You make the mistake of admitting you know _anything_ about my guys and your folks will decide you’re the perfect person to deal with us.”

Harry drained the rest of his beer and held the empty out. “Hit me again if you’re going to make threats like that, will you?”

“Sure.” Joe used the bottle opener on the edge of the counter and passed another beer over. “We both know I’m not wrong, Harry. Don’t mention me or our guys. If you do, well, when your version of my regional council decides they need some formal relationship with my folks -- probably to get more researchers who don't freak out at the idea of vampires, much less the rest of your craziness – guess who'll they'll stick with the job of liaison and recruiter?"

“The sandwiches are too good for talk like that, Joe.” Harry winced as he chewed and finally admitted, “Yeah, you’re right. Although the idea of some of my council doing fieldwork around your people is pretty terrifying. I can’t decide if them liking your guys is the good dream or the bad one, either..."

Joe snorted. "Hell, the idea of my Regional Council actually getting back out in the field is a damned entertaining pipe dream, but it's a pipe dream. It’s a sad thing when our researchers tend to be more fucking sensible. Your guys any better?"

"They'd find more trouble," Harry said matter-of-factly, "but they'd handle it, too. It just might get messy. I should get going before I draw any trouble to you, for that matter." Harry drew in a breath and blew it out again instead of speaking.

The lights rocked with the breezes, shadows flickering and dancing almost randomly. Joe scanned his bar automatically and didn’t see any shadows, glints, or reflections he hadn’t expected. He nodded after a long second. "No one snuck in that I can see. You?"

Harry shook his head. "No one here but us chickens." He stood up. "Thanks again for the beer, Joe, and the hoagies. Next time you're in Chicago...."

"...I'll call, and your butt'll be out saving the world again. I know." Joe grinned at him. "Good luck with whatever you're doing here. If the shit gets too deep, gimme a call. I know a couple guys with paddles."

Harry chuckled and shook his head. "I'm just helping another Warden out with a small problem, Joe. It'll be fine. Watch your back in case I'm wrong, though."

"Yeah, yeah, and my head, I know. Watch yours too. Always stray immortals coming through and you won’t survive beheading either."

Harry nodded to him and pulled on a long leather duster, then picked up his staff. Silver gleamed under the edges of the glove on his left wrist and off the assortment of rings on his right hand. Shadows wavered through the runes carved into the wood as he pulled it up from the stool he’d braced it against.

Pulling his hat off the bar onto his head was kind of anticlimactic after the rest of it, but Joe had never mentioned that to him. Harry’s inner drama queen didn’t need encouragement _or_ suggestions. Well. Okay. One.

Joe tidied the plate, glasses, and bottles onto a tray almost automatically as he mentioned, "Harry? If you start traveling with a whip, you’re gonna deserve every comment you will absolutely get. And no, I don’t think any of ‘em will come from a decent Marion Ravenwood substitute."

"She’d be worth it, but I don't teach anthro at Northwestern," Harry pointed out cheerfully. "And my name's not short for Henry. Take care, Joe, and yeah – let's not let our respective bosses meet."

Joe chuckled. "I got a couple of the researchers I'd consider putting up against your Council for sheer sneaky, but you've got a point. Lock up behind you, would you? I’m open ‘til two, and I'll keep the medkit handy. Just in case."

"Thanks, Joe. I’ll call your cell when we’re done or drop you a postcard when I get back to Chicago." The light in the exit sign blew out as Harry left, dropping shadows around his departure. Joe still had no trouble hearing the door bolt click into place.

Yeah. Just a small job. Of course. Harry Dresden left Chicago to help someone else in Seacouver for something minor. Uh-huh. Sure.

Now, it might have something to do with the 'serial killer' in town, the one who'd been leaving heads on his victims, which meant it wasn't in a Watcher's job description. Joe would keep an eye on the papers, anyway, but he had more sense than to go Watch a wizard at work.

Above and beyond the whole 'not trained or equipped to deal with vampires, faeries, and/or evil mages,' being around Harry was damned hard on cameras, recorders, and other tech, and Watcher paperwork was almost an evil in and of itself. He'd keep the EMT-level medkit ready though, and the beer cold. Who knew? Harry might come back by.

Joe hoped so, anyway. If Harry showed back up in in person, it would probably mean he didn’t need Highlander-shaped assistance.

**Author's Note:**

> Beertown Brown -- a Portland brewed brown ale I thought Joe might carry and Harry might like.
> 
> Oh, yeah. Joe’s met someone he thinks is Council, or at least a senior Warden. Not gonna lie, Morgan trying to intimidate Joe and getting told to go fuck himself or Joe’d do it for him with silver, lead, and blessed salt is a treasured mental image. So, no, he’s not impressed.
> 
> Knappogue Castle Sixteen Year Old is an Irish single malt. That’s Joe’s personal bottle, bought after Cory showed up with a birthday gift/apology of the Knappogue 1951. Joe does _not_ ask about that; he knows how rare and expensive it is, and yes, Cory really did owe him big. (The 1951 lives at home, thanks; much lower chance of quickenings there.)
> 
> Hat and bullwhip, Marion Ravenwood, anthro at Northwestern, and Henry are all references to the Indiana Jones movies. (To be fair, yes, I do totally think Harry would also have just blasted that guy with the sword in the movie.)
> 
> No. Joe didn’t have to call in Duncan, but he doesn’t want an explanation about the new Seacouver Gnoll, either. If it’s not a response to the [Freemont Troll](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fremont_Troll) in Seattle… he doesn’t want to know otherwise. (Officially.)
> 
> As to Harry being a drama queen? I assure you: reading about and traveling with Duncan MacLeod, Amanda Darrieux, and Gina de Valincourt absolutely qualifies Joe to judge after all these years. (He gives Harry a solid 8.6 on his best days, with points off for the hat and a caveat that Joe’s used to Duncan, who’s got a good 350 years of practice on Harry.)
> 
> Last and not least, written for Crossovers 100 prompt #58 – _dinner_.


End file.
